


You Shall Have Your Monster

by feverbeats



Category: Bat Boy: The Musical
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-31
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dance with me, darling," Parker whispers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Shall Have Your Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, gosh. Written for my friends who were in Bat Boy and basically made me. Warning: dubcon, bloodplay, content some readers may find disturbing.

When Doctor Parker first looks into the boy's eyes, all he sees is Meredith.

The trouble is, he has so many feelings and memories associated with Meredith, and very few of them are actually pleasant. When he looks at the boy, he's reminded of rape and fear and confusion and the coldness in her eyes when she looks at him. Seeing these familiar things outlined so clearly in the eyes of a near-stranger shakes Parker, and he learns to hate more than he ever believed possible.

There are other things than hate, though. He loves Meredith, and while he can't bring himself to love the boy, there is still something . . . He spends and entire winter trying to be a father to the boy, because avoidance is something he's become very, very good at.

The longer the boy stays with them, and the more seemingly human he becomes, the more trouble Parker has to disguise the feeling in his stomach when he sees the boy. He and Meredith have never been happier, though.

Their lie of a family doesn't last long.

When Parker realizes that Meredith has been lying to him, he handles it quite well, considering. He doesn't shout. He doesn't make a fuss. He doesn't do anything (excessively) violent.

He does go just a little bit insane, though.

After Ruthie is peacefully gone, Parker returns home. The family is asleep, preparing for the goddamn revival in the morning, but Parker can't sleep. Not now.

There are things he needs.

He goes to the boy's room in the dark and shuts the door firmly behind him, syringe clutched in his hand. He won't kill the boy now, though. He'll leave that for when Meredith begs him to. For now, he'll get his revenge in other ways. He can admit to himself that he's not thinking straight, but that doesn't matter. He knows that the boy deserves to pay for helping to make the lie strong enough that Parker believed it for a while.

He stands by the boy's bed, looking down at him and fighting the feeling of horror at the monstrosity. He turns the phrase over in his head and decides it's fitting for at least one person here. He lays his hand on the boy's shoulder and readies the syringe.

The boy twitches and opens his eyes sleepily. "What . . ."

Parker frowns. This changes nothing. "Shh," he says.

Edgar—no, Parker refuses to name it—_the boy_ draws a sharp breath. "What are you doing?"

Parker moves more quickly than he expected to, shoving the boy back against the headboard, holding him fast, angry enough to keep him still. The syringe jostles against the boy's chest. With his other hand, Parker tugs ineffectively at the boy's pajamas, managing only to tear off a few buttons.

The boy shoves at him a bit, still slow from sleep, and still confused. Parker decides to take advantage of this by letting go for long enough to shove the syringe deep into the boy's neck. Not death. Not yet. Something close, though.

The boy goes limp against the headboard, and Parker can breathe again.

"What did you do?" the boy asks, fingering his half-unbuttoned pajamas. He seems not to have realized that Parker injected him with something, which isn't surprising. The drugs will cloud his mind, slow his system, and make him must more open to what Parker wants to do.

Parker tosses the syringe away (it will have to be disposed of more carefully later—no sense getting caught now) and moves closer to the boy, avoiding his eyes and unbuttoning his pajamas the rest of the way. "God," he whispers, disgusted with himself for this, but still burning with anger.

"Wait," the boy says, and Parker is surprised to hear that he doesn't sound quite upset. "No, this is brilliant!"

Parker wants to laugh or scream or tell the boy to shut up.

"You could teach me," the boy says almost brightly, and Parker squeezes his eyes shut in the dark. "No, but think!" the boy continues. "I need to learn these things about the world, and who better to teach me?"

The appropriate responses line themselves up in Parker's head: _Someone who loves you, someone you love, someone you own _age_ for Christ's sake_. But there are other voices in Parker's head, and he won't stop just because the boy is allowing him this.

"Good," he says distantly. "Oh, good." He leans down and kisses the boy's chest, hard and furious. The boy arches under him, and Parker feels him shudder and respond more than he should. Perhaps that's the result of the drugs Parker pumped into his neck and perhaps it's the boy's bizarrely receptive view on new ideas.

It doesn't take long before the boy is breathing fast and raggedly, pressing up against Parker, and Parker has no idea how he feels about this. It's better than if the boy were screaming, and it's less satisfying. Then the boy surprises Parker by grabbing his hand and pressing it to his lips. Parker twitches his hand away in irritation, but the boy clings to it, trailing kisses over it and down Parker's wrist. By the time Parker realizes what's about to happen, it's too late, and the boy has sunk his fangs into the skin of Parker's wrist.

"No," Parker hisses, but the boy doesn't let go. Parker shuts his eyes.

The boy sucks him harder, and Parker shudders, repulsed and desperate. He could die here and now, but there are better things than death, and maybe someday there will be better things than fangs at his wrist. He thinks absently about how to cover the marks later so Meredith doesn't ask questions.

After a moment, however, he comes to his senses. He yanks the boy off by his wrist and shoves him backward, undoing his own belt and cursing himself.

The boy moves forward willingly, only having to be guided slightly by Parker's shaking, bloodstained hand.

"Dance with me, darling," Parker whispers.

This is not a replacement for Meredith. Far from it. This is simply touch, and perhaps penance, a way of confronting his sin. It is far, however, from satisfaction, even physically. He can't seem to make his muscles any less tense as Edgar sucks him. Parker presses his fingers into the blankets, refusing to touch the boy.

It doesn't take long.

Parker pulls away, feeling shaky and sick. He realizes that the boy is shaking, too, and that doesn't make it better.

"Perhaps that's enough for tonight," he says raggedly, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. And it's such an insufficient thing to say, because it's more than enough, too much, and stopping now won't take any of it back. The boy is already drifting confusedly off to sleep, head fuzzy with drugs and blood. Perhaps he won't even remember this. Parker will not do this again, will not return to this room. After tomorrow, there won't be a need.


End file.
